He took a moment to study the three men, Stone decided that they were a little older than he had first thought, perhaps as old as twenty-one. From the bulging muscles under their tightly stretched t-shirts and jeans, it was clear that they worked out a lot. Although bulky muscle can appear physically intimidating, it will usually be tight and inflexible, making that person slow an unbalanced. The absence of any athletic movement in the way that the three men braced their legs, with their knees stiff and feet flat, told Stone that it was unlikely that they had ever had any significant martial arts training. Although Stone was not a large man and did not appear to be particularly muscular, many years of dedicated training had given him astonishing speed, strength, and flexibility.
Looking to his right, he could see that the old lady was getting closer. Stone looked at the three young men again and decided that he was comfortable with the odds. If he was going to act, it had to be now. He calmly walked forwards and stopped eight feet away, directly behind the center of the group. Eight feet away, two fast paces, or a step and a kick; a gap he could close in less than one second. Far enough away to be out of range from a sudden attack, far enough to stay out of someone’s personal space, and far enough to be conversational without seeming intimidating — which was his intention.
The fruit throwers were all facing away from Stone, still unaware of his presence, using the dustcart as cover they jostled with each other as they prepared their ammunition for the attack on the old lady. The man on Stone’s right seemed to be the ringleader; he was bouncing a pear in his hand as he readied his throw.
“Gentlemen! May I have your attention please?” Stone shouted over noise of the pneumatic drill.
Looking as if they had been jabbed with a cattle prod, the three men comically jumped in surprise. They quickly gathered themselves and turned to face the source of the voice, relaxing visibly when they saw Stone. From their point of view, he was just some middle-aged man, of medium height and build, dressed smartly in brown leather shoes, beige slacks and a loose fitting cream golf shirt. They saw him as someone twice their age, someone old, someone who was of negligible threat to three large men.
“What the fuck you want?” spat the man on the right.
Stone held his hands out to his sides with the palms facing forwards, in the international gesture that said, ‘I am unarmed and I wish you no harm.’ He spoke in a calm, clear voice.
“I just wanted to suggest that perhaps you have had enough fun for today and that now would be a good time for you to go home.” He gave a big reassuring smile.
The ringleader wrinkled his brow for a moment, as if he was unable to comprehend the meaning of the words. He looked at his two colleagues and, with the confidence of a pack of hyenas, they all laughed together at a secret shared joke. The spotty lad on the left was the first to recover; he spoke next.
“What’s it to you GRAND D-A-D!” he said, deliberately stretching the last word for comic effect.
Stone smiled and dipped his head politely, allowing the intended insult to pass.
“I do not want any trouble. I am just asking you guys to stop throwing fruit, before someone gets hurt.”
The big guy in the middle of the group was quick to return the comment.
“The only person what’s gonna get hurt is you — dickhead.”
“Unlikely,” Stone responded in a frank assessment. Then he smiled and tried again with exaggerated politeness. “Please gentlemen. I would be most grateful if you would stop what you are doing and move along; it really would be in your best interest.”
The spotty one joined in again. “You gonna stop us on your own then?”
“I would rather it didn’t come to that, but if I have to I will.”
“There’s three of us and one of you.”
Stone smiled at the spotty kid. “Thank you for that excellent demonstration of your mathematical superiority, but I was already aware of the ratios.”
“Wah?” the spotty kid grunted in confusion.
“You reckon you can take us then?” the big guy asked curiously.
Stone looked him straight in the eye.
“If I have to, but it doesn’t need to come to that. Walk away right now and no one gets hurt today.”
“Or what?” the big guy asked, pushing the point.
“Or learn the hard way and crawl away.” Stone casually crossed his arms. “Either way your little game stops right now. Nice or nasty — it’s your choice.”
“You seem confident for a little guy,” the big guy said.
“I am,” Stone said calmly, “Perhaps you should pause to consider why that would be.”
“I’ve had enough of this shit,” the ringleader hissed, as he produced a knife from his back pocket.
It was a small knife, perhaps a kitchen paring knife, but with a wickedly sharp four-inch blade and the handle wrapped in multiple layers of duct tape. It sat in the ringleaders hand with familiar confidence.
“Go on Spike,” the spotty kid leered, “cut the bastard!”
Stone looked directly at the one called Spike and sighed dramatically.
“Now why did you have to go and do a thing like that; just when we were starting to build a good relationship?”
“I’m gonna fuck you up good man,” Spike said. He waved the knife in his right hand as if it was a magic wand.
“If you don’t put it away Spike, I am going to have to take it away — and you will not like it when I do.” As he spoke, Stone circled casually to his right, covertly forcing the three men to line up along the sidewalk, one behind the other, trapped between the wall and the rear of the dustcart. Now they had to attack one at a time, with the knife welding Spike at the front of the line.
“Man! You gotta learn some respect,” Spike sneered.
“Yeah! Stick him Spike,” someone shouted from the back of the line.
Stone bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, with his left foot slightly forward and his hands held ahead at waist height, palms open. It was a purely defensive position; physically unthreatening, but ready to react to any attack.
“Last chance, Spike. Put the knife down and walk away — please.”
Spike smiled in anticipation.
“Fuck you, old man!” he shouted as he attacked.
The first principle of Wado-Ryu karate is avoidance. There is no shame in walking away from any situation, or indeed running; but if confrontation is avoidable, the first moves you learn to make are all about how to avoid an attack. As Spike lunged forwards, Stone stepped to his left with his left foot, easily moving his body aside and out of danger. At the same time, he used his right arm to deflect the knife hand, so that it passed harmlessly several inches to his right.
The second principle of Wado-Ryu karate is entering — positioning your body correctly and in a balanced fashion, ready for what comes next. In the next half second, Stone swung his right arm in a clockwise loop over and then under Spike’s arm, trapping the forearm under Stone’s armpit. This simple move locked Spike’s elbow straight, painfully counter-rotating the shoulder and elbow, making it impossible for him to use the knife.
The third principle of Wado-Ryu karate is attack. In the next second, Stone used his right foot, in a back-heel kick, to sweep Spike’s front foot away. Already off balance, and trying to bend over backwards because of the painful pressure on his elbow, Spike flipped backwards and slammed his head against the rear bumper of the dustcart. As he slid into unconsciousness, Stone lifted the knife from his lifeless hand and tossed it into the dustcart rubbish chute.
Three seconds had passed.
In an ideal world, such violent actions would be unnecessary. In an ideal world, the other two youths would have had an epiphany and run away — but they did not.